


Rondeletia

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:21:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21945031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Sam sees flowers in Legolas’ hair.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Legolas Greenleaf, Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Comments: 15
Kudos: 454





	Rondeletia

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

One of the many, many difficulties of their quest is a lack of proper bedding—Sam always wakes up with a kink in his neck or back or even his left ankle, because they’re always passing out on the hard, uneven ground. He has spare clothes he could bundle up to sleep on, but by the time they’re finally allowed to stop for the night, he’s always too tired to set up. He just flops down next to Frodo and tells himself it’s worth it, because the alternative would be a nice big bed in a Frodo-less Hobbiton. It’s not even his own sleep he frets over. Frodo already has such a terrible burden, and it seems cruel to make him press on when the sun’s only just risen. 

Occasionally, he wakes up before Frodo, and he lies there, the two of them curled up side-by-side, and Sam just watches Frodo’s handsome face. Frodo looks troubled even in his dreams. Sam wants to let him rest until those troubles ebb away, but he knows that someone will come to rouse them both soon enough. 

On his other side, Pippin’s snoring. Somewhere, Gimli’s snoring even louder. Sam pushes himself up and stretches his arms, knowing full well the Men and Legolas will already be awake. 

But Boromir’s still passed out by the cold remnants of their fire. Sam only has to walk a little ways before he spots Strider—or Aragorn, as he apparently _truly_ is, something Sam’s still getting used to—and Legolas, seated on a log. They’re not far, plenty close enough to wake the rest if trouble comes, but there are a few thin trees between them and the company—enough space to keep their hushed voices from waking everyone right away. Sam appreciates that much. He wanders closer, hoping to plead for a few minutes, not for himself, but his exhausted master. 

He gets close enough to realize what they’re doing. Legolas has his back to Aragorn, his long, silken yellow hair drawn back in a thick braid by Aragorn’s talented fingers. Aragorn is now threading different flowers into it—all sorts of rare blossoms plucked fresh from the earth. Sam only recognizes two species, and the rest are new and wild. There’s no more than three of any one flower. A plethora of shapes and colours and all sorts of bright, soft petals decorate Legolas’ gorgeous hair. He’s always beautiful, nearly as much as Frodo, because elves are a picture of pure art. But Legolas looks _especially_ beautiful under Aragorn’s tender attention. Aragorn tucks a bright sunflower behind Legolas’ left ear, and Sam’s breath hitches, because the view before him is absolutely breathtaking. It’s like something straight out of a song. For that brief moment, he forgets all the agony of their quest, and he’s just a gardener again, experiencing the sort of whimsical, fantasy mirage he used to dream he’d plant if he had all the money and time in the world. 

Legolas tilts his head slightly to the side, just enough for his clear eyes to catch on Sam, not enough to dislodge Aragorn’s work. Legolas asks in his lilting voice, “What is it, Sam?”

Sam opens his mouth, but no words escape him. He’s embarrassed at being caught. Aragorn chuckles, “Perhaps he wants his own crown of flowers.”

Before he’s even thought twice about it, Sam blurts, “Can you do that for Mr. Frodo?”

Aragorn throws him a warm grin and answers, “If he wakes early enough. Legolas does not require sleep like the rest of us—he can afford to spend time simply being pretty.”

Peering fondly over his shoulder, Legolas returns, “I do not do this alone.” Aragorn grins wider, as though to say: _fair enough_.

But then he drops the long braid. Legolas pulls it over his shoulder to examine it, blunt fingertips deftly tracing the gaudy greenery adorning every mound. With a heavy sigh, Aragorn tells Sam, “But that is enough of idly beauty. We had best rouse the others and resume our quest.”

Sam, having entirely forgotten what he came for, nods and goes to obey.


End file.
